Hot Chocolate and Flying
by orangekangaroo
Summary: Castiel has found the bunker again. He can't sleep one night and is joined by occasional insomniac Dean, who brings a treat to his fallen angel. Castiel dreams of flying. Could be pre-Destiel, if you want it to be. But it doesn't have to be. Possible one-shot. Could be made into more.


**I'm not sure why I wrote this. Perhaps because this is what I do for my younger sister when she's sad or upset. Dean seems to consider Castiel a second brother, even though he's made some mistakes. So I imagined Dean trying to make Cas feel better the way I make my sister feel better.**

Castiel sat quietly in the room of the bunker that was dubbed "the living room". What did that mean? Obviously the room was not alive, therefore not living. Dean had tried to explain it once to him, but it still made no logical sense. He asked Dean a lot of questions, always had. Especially now that he had to live as a human. Castiel stared in the direction of the bunker entrance, envisioning the night he had finally returned.

_It was raining and cold, only a few degrees above freezing. Castiel shivered pitifully in his stolen clothing, soaked to the bone. Water dripped from his bangs into his eyes. He had been walking for miles when it started raining about two miles from the bunker. Walking was the best way to avoid all of the angels that had fallen months before. It had been a long time since he had slept more than an hour or two at a time, and even longer since he slept in a bed. Hotels seemed too risky, and Castiel didn't have money to spare on them. His stomach rumbled loudly again, and the daggers of hunger stabbed his stomach again. But Castiel kept going. He was so close.  
_

_When he reached the outer door of the bunker, Castiel saw Dean standing outside under the overhang of the bunker. He seemed to be watching the storm. Castiel stayed out of sight for a few minutes, just watching the man. Dean had filled out slightly, the effects of a well-stocked kitchen no doubt. But his eyes were older than Castiel remembered. Castiel slowly stepped forward, careful not to scare the hunter and earn a blow to the face. Dean stared at him for what seemed like years with an unreadable expression on his face. Then a smile stretched slowly across his tanned face._

_"Hey, Cas." Dean opened the bunker door. "Come on in."_

_Castiel suddenly felt his exhaustion, his pain and his sorrow crash down on him and he stumbled forward. Dean caught him gently and wrapped his arms around the former angel. Castiel sank into Dean's warmth and hugged him back. As an angel, he had rarely, if ever, returned an embrace. But as he was human now, it seemed only fitting._

_"Geez Cas, you're freezing. Let's get you taken care of. Sam!" Dean called inside. "Cas is back!"_

"Hey." Dean walked into the living room, rubbing his eyes with one hand and carrying two mugs in the other. "What are you doing up?"

"Thinking." Castiel answered as Dean placed one mug in front of him. It held a steaming brown liquid that smelled wonderfully familiar. "Dean, what is it?"

"Hot chocolate." Dean answered. "You've never tried it, have you?"

"No. Though I was there when chocolate was discovered." Castiel lifted the mug and took a sip. The hot, but not burning, liquid seemed to warm his entire being, causing his toes to curl in a very human way. It tasted like happiness, Castiel decided. "Thank you, Dean."

"So what are you thinking about?" Dean asked. Castiel averted his gaze, staring into the mug of liquid happiness before him. "It's ok if you don't want to tell me."

"Why are you awake?" Castiel answered. This time, Dean averted his eyes.

They sat in silence for awhile, drinking and losing themselves in their own thoughts. Finally Dean broke the silence again.

"I don't think I'll ever stop dreaming about Hell. Not completely." Dean unconsciously rubbed the red hand-print on his shoulder. "But that's alright, I guess. Did you have a nightmare, Cas?"

"No." Castiel whispered. "It wasn't a nightmare. It was a beautiful dream. I was flying over the Pacific Ocean. The air was warm, and I was just...coasting on the breeze. Heaven was whole, my brothers and sisters were alive, and I was among them again."

"That sounds..." Dean searched for a word, but before he found the right one Castiel's eyes overflowed and a tear rolled down his face. "Cas?"

"I'll never fly again." Castiel said sadly. "I used to have wings, invisible to you but beautiful to behold to other angels. All angels' wings are beautiful."

Dean sat quietly listening to Castiel talk about his wings, learning to fly with the help of his brothers and sisters. How every angel's wings are unique. His were blacker than the blackest obsidian, and wide enough to touch the sides of a normal bedroom. Words poured from Castiel in that gravelly deep voice that was sad beyond comprehension. Finally, he fell silent.

"Cas." Dean's voice commanded the former angel to look at him. "We'll find a way to reverse what Metatron did. We'll get your grace back. You will fly again."

"Dean, you should not promise things that you cannot deliver." Castiel chastised lightly, but the hope that he would once again fly was once again in his soul. Even if that hope was a small flame, weak as a candle. They sat in silence once more, looking for something to say. Castiel saw how deep in thought Dean was, and then he noticed an unusual feeling. He wanted more of the hot chocolate that Dean had made him. "Dean...can you show me how to make hot chocolate?"

"Sure, Cas." Dean grinned and walked into the kitchen. "By the way, until you figure out how to use the toaster, this is the only thing you are allowed to make in my kitchen." He showed Castiel how to turn on the stove, and how to heat the water in the kettle to just under boiling. Add the powder from the little foil-lined pouch, stir, and add milk. Castiel was about to take his new mug when Dean stopped him. Castiel turned questioning blue eyes towards him.

"Is there something else?"

"Yeah, something...something my mom used to do for me." Dean said with a faraway look in his eyes. He retrieved a strange looking from the refridgerator and preceded to squirt what Castiel recognized proudly as "whipped cream". "My mom put whipped cream on hot chocolate when I was sad. And you looked sad, so..."

Castiel had to admit, it was a good addition. The taste reminded him of flying.

**I hope you liked it. Make yourself some hot chocolate, you lovely people. With whipped cream. Then leave a review.**


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